She was a school counselor for a decade. Now, her family of 5 is homeless.

CHARLOTTE, NC — It’s the day before Thanksgiving and Johnika Jamison, 38, doesn't have holiday plans. She’s wearing elephant-print pajamas, snuggled in a hotel bed with her oldest daughter, 15-year-old Eden, and her youngest, 1-year-old Everly. Her middle daughter, 9-year-old Eastin, is with her dad for the weekend.

It’s the quietest the hotel room has been in a while, Jamison says. Her family has been living here for a couple of weeks, five of them packed into the two-bed space with a mini fridge, microwave and hot plate for a kitchen. Each day she and her husband, Tristian Harris, scrounge together what cash they can get to pay for the next night's stay. More often than she'd like, Jamison ends up calling her father to ask for a loan. She has no idea when, or if, she'll be able to pay him back.

They’ve been homeless for 14 months, ever since Harris's multiple sclerosis flare-up and Jamison’s difficult pregnancy led into a jobless summer and eventual eviction in September 2024. The family bounced around to different extended family members' houses and hotels for a year, separating for weeks at a time. Jamison says she and Harris spent one night in the car with the baby. The hotel they're in now is further from their parents and closer to a job Jamison held for three weeks in the fall before she was let go for taking too much time off to care for her family. It costs $100 per night, but at least staying there means they can all be together.

Jamison gets a text from Eden’s boyfriend’s dad inviting the family to a Thanksgiving dinner the next day. Just the mention of her boyfriend's name makes Eden smile wide. They’ve only been together for three months, but she says it’s been a good distraction from the chaos her family is going through.

The next day, Jamison sends her family off to the Thanksgiving feast. She stays at the hotel, alone, enjoying a few hours of peace when "nobody’s calling my name."

"I don’t want the only thing I do to be caregiving," Jamison says. She wants to work as a school counselor, like she did for a decade before her world came crashing down. She wants her family to be back in stable housing, back to indulging in the small luxuries that make life fun, like manicures and dance classes. She wants to build up her savings again. She wants a kitchen, to be able to cook for her family and meal prep for the week. She wants Eden to be able to be a kid, instead of trying to "be a little adult" all the time, changing Everly's diapers and feeding her bottles.

But between scheduling her husband's neurology appointments, managing Eastin's epilepsy symptoms and following up with Everly's pediatrician about her cranial helmet to correct her severe plagiocephaly − on top of the typical mental load of motherhood and less typical stress of homelessness − Jamison is in survival mode without a clear path forward.

"Things are really the worst that they've ever been," Jamison says. "And it's really linked to me having to care for everybody else."

Many Americans are closer to homelessness than they think

Most Americans are like Jamison was two years ago, one crisis away from homelessness, according to the U.S. Interagency Council on Homelessness. Before the eviction, Jamison was in her 10th year working as a school counselor, making about $60,000 a year.

Jamison's salary was on par with the median income for an American worker, according to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics. But in today's economy, even workers who earn six-figure salaries find themselves living paycheck to paycheck, recent studies have found.

Millions of people are at risk of homelessness, according to the National Alliance to End Homelessness, with two-thirds of extremely low-income households spending 50% or more of their income on housing, as opposed to the recommended 30%. Donald Whitehead, executive director for the National Coalition for the Homeless, says the homeless population could double in the next several years due to federal cutbacks in Medicaid and public housing.

"This is a common thing. There's just so many people [who] are right on the edge, financially, at all times," says Steve Berg, chief policy officer for the National Alliance to End Homelessness.

Angela Williams, president and CEO of United Way Worldwide, agrees: "Each of us is just one diagnosis or disaster away from the breaking point."

Caregiving is "a much bigger piece than people realize" when it comes to homelessness, especially since child care costs rival the cost of rent, says Ann Marie Staudenmaier, senior legal counsel for the Washington Legal Clinic for the Homeless in Washington, DC.

When families pivot to helping their loved ones with disabilities or medical issues, that extra expense can be enough to push them into homelessness "very easily," Berg says.

Family caregivers average 27 hours of care work per week, leaving them out of time to work professionally or to look for paid work, which becomes a problem when rent is due.

'I just need a little more time'

Jamison loved her job as a school counselor. But being on unpaid medical leave for several months during her high-risk pregnancy in 2023 hurt her bank account, and she missed rent payments. Her blood sugar was dangerously high, and her liver was failing. It was a scary time, Harris and Eden say. Eden worried her mom "was on her deathbed."

In a written response to court filings about her unpaid rent, dated Oct. 27, 2023, Jamison explained that her medical leave "was unexpected" and how she'd "been given the 'run around'" when trying to get workplace accommodations.

"I informed my landlord that I'm still trying to pay all past due rent," Jamison wrote. "I just need a little more time."

Jamison lost the baby and then got pregnant again with Everly. It was another high-risk pregnancy, and doctors tried to hospitalize her several times, Jamison says.

"I would sign myself out because I was like, 'I gotta take care of my kids,'" she says.

Jamison worked sporadically and cycled through paid and unpaid medical leave through 2024 and into 2025. Her contract with the school district wasn't renewed at the end of the 2024-25 school year. She'd like to file a complaint with the U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission but says "it's laughable" how long and arduous the process is. She drained her retirement contributions and then filed for unemployment, but she says her status still is "pending resolution."

The family was evicted in September 2024, and Everly was born five weeks prematurely the following month.

While heartbreaking, Jamison's story isn't unique, Whitehead says. Family homelessness saw the greatest increase in history − 39% − from 2023 to 2024. And the journey out of homelessness can be nearly impossible for some families. Landlords are reluctant to rent to people with past evictions, Whitehead says. And to secure an apartment, families need a substantial amount of money upfront to pay for the security deposit and first month's rent.

In the meantime, families like Jamison's with little means have to choose between basic needs like health care, housing and food.

"Those are tough choices that we are asking people to make," Williams says.

Disability checks, shelter solutions are out of reach

The girls are doing better now, Jamison says. Eastin's anti-seizure medication has done wonders, and Eden's new school is good for her − both thanks to Jamison's tireless advocating on behalf of her daughters. Jamison says she'll never forget the appointment when Eastin was diagnosed with epilepsy.

"It was awful to watch," Jamison says, recalling through tears how medical professionals stimulated Eastin's seizures in order to diagnose her. At the same time, Jamison was relieved. "Finally," she remembers thinking, "I've got the proof I need to get my baby help."

Harris started infusion therapy and can work some days, when his symptoms − fatigue, muscle weakness, cognitive and emotional strain, and gastrointestinal issues − don't get in the way. Jamison says they've tried to file for disability, but it's a long process.

"It's not enough to just have MS," Berg says. "It's just a very complex process with a lot of ways to go wrong, and sort of set up to be hard to do."

Jamison has researched housing assistance and shelters in her area, but she says there's never room for her family or she doesn't meet the criteria to get help. Some programs, like Charlotte Family Housing, require parents to have consistent work before setting them up with temporary housing.

Governments and nonprofits need to rethink how to deliver services to people in need, Williams says. Jamison has a master's degree. She applies to counseling jobs all the time, but nothing has stuck.

She doesn't want to be a stay-at-home mom, Jamison says, but she feels like one − even without a place to call home.

'It falls on me to figure out what comes next'

"The mad rush" to get Eden and Eastin off to school starts before 5:30 a.m.

The two sisters share one of the hotel beds, and most nights baby Everly wakes up in her playpen and insists on joining them. On a morning in mid-December, Everly sleeps in the bed while her sisters take turns using the bathroom and rummaging through various backpacks, tote bags and suitcases to get dressed. There are only three dresser drawers and one small closet that the five of them share.

Jamison supervises Eastin's teeth brushing efforts and deflates when Eden comes back inside and says she missed the bus. With just one car, and Harris off to secure a check for the few days of delivery work he performed last week − money that should buy them tonight's hotel stay − it could be a while before Eden gets a ride to school.

When Harris returns emptyhanded, Jamison starts to panic. Harris says he can't cash the check until after 9 a.m., but he needs to be at his other job by 9:20. If he doesn't cash the check, they can't stay in the hotel tonight. If he doesn't work, they won't be able to pay for the hotel next week.

"It falls on me to figure out what comes next," Jamison says. Today she was meant to get their food stamps and follow up on a job application. "I'm juggling everything, and sometimes we are literally, like, just trying to survive."

Everly whines to be held. She'd really like to walk around, but Jamison doesn't trust the hotel room floor, so the baby spends the day in her arms or napping on a bed.

Harris eventually gets his check, but he only works a half day. Jamison negotiates with the hotel manager and tidies up the room, stuffing away the tote bags and suitcases so her family has places to sit and sleep when they are all home again. Pretty soon, Eastin is back from school, and then Eden. Jamison is exhausted. She doesn't know what they'll do for dinner.

"I feel very mentally drained," Jamison says. "Even though I know there's still so much that needs to be done."

Eastin heats up a package of ramen noodles in the microwave. Eden takes a frozen chicken sandwich from the mini fridge and heats it up, settling on the same meal for both breakfast and dinner. Then she feeds Everly some yogurt.

The family spends their evening cracking jokes and retelling old family stories. Jamison plays Beyoncé's "Texas Hold 'Em" from her phone, bribing Eden to dance for them by promising she can see her boyfriend over the weekend.

"Manipulation at its peak," Eden says, moving Everly's playpen.

"I don't care," Jamison says, beaming at her first-born. "I love watching you dance."

Tomorrow is Saturday. "It would be nice to go out and do something, but we don't have money," Jamison says. Maybe they'll go to the library. Maybe she'll donate plasma to pay for the next night's hotel stay. She thinks through her options, planning their days ahead, knowing her plans can be thwarted at any moment by a new emergency.

"Every plan," she says, "plan A, B, C, D, E, F that I've tried to keep from getting to this point, has fallen through."

Since this story published, several readers have asked how to help Jamison and her family. Jamison created a GoFundMe on Dec. 18.

Madeline Mitchell's role covering women and the caregiving economy at USA TODAY is supported by a partnership with Pivotal and Journalism Funding Partners. Funders do not provide editorial input.

Reach Madeline at [email protected] and @maddiemitch_ on X.